


Respite

by Estelathan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estelathan/pseuds/Estelathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's gone and Dean's dealing just fine, that is to say he isn't at all. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

 

 

 

Three days.

 

In the end it takes three endlessly long days for Cas to find him, although whether or not that was intentional on the angel's part is anyone's guess. Dean doesn't guess nor does he care. He's in almost exactly the same position he's been in for the last three days: sitting on the floor, his back to Sammy's bed, head in his hands and elbows propped on his hunched knees. He doesn't move or even look up at the sound of the door opening, doesn't acknowledge Castiel standing awkwardly in the doorway despite knowing fully well that the angel is waiting for him to say something.

 

He doesn't.

 

Dean's fairly sure he must paint quite the picture. He hasn't showered, hasn't changed his clothes, eaten, or hell barely moved from this spot at all except to take the occasional piss and grab yet another bottle of whisky on his way back. He can feel the greasiness of his hair and the two-day stubble across his face from where his head rests in his hands but he doesn't give a damn. What's it matter if he smells to high heaven or is trying, so far unsuccessfully, to drink himself into oblivion? The world may still be going 'round but for Dean it's as good as stopped because the bed behind his back is empty and it'll never be filled again.

 

"Dean?" It seems despite Dean's silent hope otherwise Castiel is determined to stay. He's making an effort to speak quietly but after three days of silence the angel's voice might as well be a sonic boom for the way it hits Dean's ears and sends him flinching into himself, teetering on the edge of the abyss.

 

"Oh Dean. . ." Cas sighs, the sound sorrowful, and before the man can re-gather enough focus on what's going on the world is shifting around him. When it settles there's a warm body pressed up against one side and equally warm hands gently lifting his head narrowing his focus to the pair of brilliant alien blue eyes peering into his depths. It's unnerving and oddly endearing because no matter how many years he's spent among humans the angel still doesn't care jack about personal space, and while Dean would normally point that out, this time he doesn't.

 

Instead Dean turns his way out of Cas' grip and reaches down to grab the nearly empty whisky bottle, taking a swig before wordlessly offering out the bottle to the angel. It's a silent testament to Dean's inner torment which Cas seems to get because he takes the bottle without objection. There's not enough left in it to effect Cas, which is probably a good thing on hindsight because there's no reason for them both to be drunk and miserable, yet he raises it and takes a drink.

 

For a while they remain that way, sitting side by side passing the bottle back and forth until it's finally empty until inevitably Cas breaks the silence. "Sam wouldn't want to see you like this." He says quietly, his gaze focused on the far wall instead of Dean, and perhaps in some odd way it's meant to be reassuring or something but the words go through Dean like he's been stabbed. The air gasps painfully out of his chest and he can't get it back in leaving him gasping and wheezing and before he knows what's hit him Dean's full out bawling like a baby in front of his angel.

 

"Breathe Dean, just breath." The words sound like their coming from the end of a tunnel and Dean wants to listen, he does, he's struggling but nothing's coming in as he tries to force air into his lungs. Black spots are dancing in his vision when Dean feels himself enveloped by a veritable wall of searing warmth that thumps hard on his back. It helps; the block pushes past leaving him suddenly gulping down air.

 

By the time Dean's breathing has settled down again he's a shuddering jittery mess and is shocked to find himself leaning up against Cas' side like an oversized kid. Instinct kicks in a moment later causing him to stiffen and straighten, heedless of the tears still tracking down his face. Dean coughs, feeling fifty shades of awkward which is completely stupid considering Cas has seen him in far worse positions than bawling like a little girl yet the walls are coming back up with no indication of going back down anytime soon.

 

"It-- It should h-have been m-me. . ." Dean manages to finally force out past a dry throat an eternity later when it feels like the silence has stretched on too long again. The confession sounds so clichéd out loud, and had he been in better spirits Dean's a hundred percent certain he'd never have said such a thing, but it's the truth. It should have been him; he should be the one who's dead not Sam. Protecting his little brother had been Dean's responsibility since he was four years old and, yeah, he's screwed that up more times than he can conceivably count but it doesn't matter. When it came down to the line and Sam needed him the most Dean hadn't been able to do a damn thing to help him and it hurts beyond words. The knowledge that he hadn't been able to help Sam sits like a lead stone in Dean's soul and by god it **hurts**. The pain is biting and sharp in a way nothing else has been-- not broken bones, or broken souls, or even all his years in hell combined because Dean's failed where he never should have.

 

"Stop it!" Castiel commands, dragging Dean back out of his head, the angel's voice as deep and authorities in a way it hasn't been in a long time. It's enough to startle Dean into silence which is good because Cas isn't anywhere near finished. "Just stop it right now. Sam was an adult and he knew what he was doing Dean. He and I spoke at length before he left and he confided he wasn't afraid to die. He wanted to do the right thing; he chose his path of his own volition and I will not see his sacrifice dishonored in any way, do you hear me?" He paused, his eyes blazing with an inner light that made them glitter dangerously. "It would break his heart to hear you say that it should have been you. More than anything Sam wanted you to live Dean, he wanted you to be happy."

 

In the wake of Cas' outburst Dean finds himself at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several moments as he struggles to find a leg to stand on. It's surprisingly hard considering Cas just tore the world out from under him-- he and Sam had spoken about dying and nobody bothered to clue him into it? There weren't enough words to describe the hurt, the anger, and by damn the complete and utter **guilt** tearing through Dean's mind with the information. When he finally does manage to make a sound it's little more than a rasping croak and just like that the tears are back, flowing down his cheeks in little torments.

 

God, he's a mess. A hysterical little chuckle escapes at the realization because suddenly Dean can't help but think of what Sam would say if he was here-- the kid would be having a field day he was sure. After all the times Dean had teased him for being a girl over the years he would undoubtedly find it hysterical that it's Dean's turn now. Dean huffs out a humorless laugh, imagining glaring up at Sammy's triumphant smirk because the shaggy-haired bastard would be eating up every single moment of this. It takes longer than it should have, lost in his imagining as he is, but grudgingly Dean has to admit that Cas is right; Sam would hate to see him like this, wasting away in a dark bedroom like a terrible parody of a living ghost.

 

It's not right nor natural, Sam being gone. For Dean it's the equivalent of the sun not rising and for the life of him he doesn't have a clue as to what to do. Sammy had always been the one to dream of a life after hunting whereas Dean had never been able to fathom such a thing. Hunters weren't meant to have apple pie lives; hadn't theirs thus far gone to prove that? Now Sam was gone and Dean was still here, left with nothing more than his memories and the ghost of a dream he didn't believe in.

 

Not for the first time Dean thinks he's freaking screwed.

 

He can't do this; not alone.

 

He doesn't **want** to do this alone.

 

He wishes Sam were here, alive, just so he could punch him in the face and scream at him for leaving Dean like this because Sam promised he wouldn't go off and do something stupid like getting himself killed!

 

He wishes he had more whiskey.

 

He wishes there was a way to fix this, to bring his brother back.

 

More than anything he wishes Sam were alive so he could hug his pig-headed stubborn Sasquatch little brother one more time. . .

 

When Dean finally looks up again he's surprised to find Castiel still sitting there, watching him with all the patience of a stone statue. Dean had completely forgotten the angel was even there, let alone sitting so close and studying him like a bug, and he can't help but bristle with embarrassment at the realization that Cas had seen him break down like this.

 

"There's no need to be embarrassed Dean," Cas states simply, not bothering to hide the fact he's reading Dean's mind like an open book. "Grief is a natural process that takes many forms and you've always been beautiful to me." His voice is subdued, but the tone is purely earnest and his gaze doesn't waver from Dean's.

 

As if it's that simple.

 

"Dude, creepy." Dean rasps out, and it's a well-worn dance between the two of them after all these years but his heart isn't in it and they both know it. At this point if Cas wants to read his mind Dean's content to let him, hell he might as well since he's put up with Dean's gross bawling so far. For his part Castiel doesn’t seem perturbed by Dean’s comment or his tears and remains a steady presence by the man’s side. It’s oddly comforting to Dean’s rattling nerves and he finds himself relaxing back against the bed. The silence stretches out before them like an endless highway and for a long time neither of them speak.

 

“What am I supposed to do now?” Dean finally asks, his voice gruff in the otherwise silent room. His head is still resting against the bed, his eyes closed.

 

The angel doesn’t respond at first, assessing Dean as his eyes sweep over his charge’s tear-streaked face and defeated posture. He hates to see the man so stricken like this, in such pain, and more than anything he aches to fix it but he can’t. There are many things he can do since the return of his power, but saving Sam was even beyond his abilities and for that Castiel will never forgive himself. He doesn’t tell Dean that, however, the angel knows he couldn’t stand to see the heartbreak that it would cause. “Live.” He finally declares, “Sam would want you to live a full life.”

 

Leave it to Cas to lay it out there like everything is friggin’ simple and Dean has so much to live for. He opens his eyes, a million different retorts jumping on the edge of his tongue yet the sight of Cas’ face stops him cold. The angel looks as heartbroken as Dean feels and that right there strikes Dean hard because he’s been so wrapped up in his own misery that he didn’t even consider anyone else. _Sam would kick my ass if he was here_ , Dean thinks and it’s true. Sam had always been on Dean’s case for the way he treated Cas at times and he’d take it no better knowing that Dean’s being a dick when Cas has lost a friend as well and that more than anything does it.

 

Dean rises to his feet slowly, wobbling after three days of inactivity and god-knows-how-many bottles of whiskey and thrusts his hand out to the angel still seated on the floor. “Sammy would want you to live as well.” His voice cracks but his determination doesn’t. “So, you with me?”

 

He gets his answer when the angel takes his hand and rises as well.


End file.
